


The KittyHawk Project

by Sweety_Bird, theplanetmary



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Black Panther - Freeform, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post Avengers, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Romance, Shapeshifting, Slow Build, adding tags as we go, all will be explained eventually, deafness, kittyhawk, most of this isnt canon, young!tchalla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Bird/pseuds/Sweety_Bird, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplanetmary/pseuds/theplanetmary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kittyhawk is a little-known/nonexistent marvel ship that theplanetmary and I discovered. T'Challa and Clint aren't exactly a conventional couple, but with the right build up, they make quite a pair. This fic will go through their first meeting (which isn't canon!) and whatever happens beyond. There will eventually be a relationship and possibly explicit content, so stay tuned!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The city was blessedly quiet tonight. Thankfully so, as its heroes were about to be otherwise occupied. The outline of a man in all black stood framed by the light of the city, his focus on the silent streets below. New York was usually full of hustle and bustle, and while tonight was no exception, there seemed to be very little trouble. Good.

The man on the roof turned away from the edge of the building and made his way towards the other side. Tonight was the perfect night to explore the darker nooks and crannies of the city without dealing with criminals and the police that hunted them.

If T'Challa was going to do business with America, he was going to get to know it inside and out, starting with one of its greatest cities.

Clint Barton's eyes miss nothing and he tracks the movement of the stranger easily. Keeping the dark outline and following it. All black and slinking around in the shadows don't send the best message. Especially if there happened to be a group of resident 'heroes' keeping the city ship shape.

When the dark figure drops off the rooftops Clint falls right in line and follows along behind at a safe distance.

The king of Wakanda has sharp senses, to put it plainly. For Clint to have followed him for as long as he did without being noticed was really something. Granted, it was only a few minutes, but no one had gotten the drop on T'Challa before.

He heard the man before he saw him. As silent as Clint was being, T'Challa could make out the faint steps behind him. Carefully he made himself appear relaxed and unhurried, but as soon as he rounded the corner he took off at a dead sprint. His footfalls were light and silent- like a cat.

Clint's own terrible hearing fails him here and he has no idea the stranger is running until he rounds the corner and see's him on the run. Clint lets out a string of curses before sprinting at top speed after the stranger. He really didn't want a foot-chase. Not tonight.

Clint manages to close some of the distance. He just needed to get him back into sight and stay close enough that he won't have to search for the stranger. "Okay! You made your point! You can quit running now and I won't have to tackle you!"

T'Challa looked over his shoulder, the yellow eye slots of his mask narrowing as he frowned as his pursuer. No one in America would recognize the Black Panther costume since he hadn't done anything public in it yet, so his reputation wasn't known here. Still, it irked him slightly that the man was both catching up and seemed to think that he stood a chance against the king. T'Challa was a formidable opponent. He didn't know this stranger, but he was sure the man couldn't take him down as quickly as he claimed he could.

It seemed, however, that he couldn't outrun Clint. Not in this form, at least. His smirk was hidden by the mask as he faced forward again and dove. Instead of landing on his face however, he landed on paws- four, to be exact- and then he was off at a much higher speed, long tail streaming out behind him like a banner. His black fur coat made it difficult to see him in the dark, save for his luminous yellow eyes.

Clint stumbled and cursed but managed to stay upright and keep running. He poured on as much gas as he had to offer and kept following.

A metahuman. Enhanced. Mutant. Whatever you wanted to call it. Clint was used to it. He was a minority in his line of work by just being a boring old human. He could already tell he was probably going to be sore and regretful tomorrow.

"You making me run is not helping your case yanno!" He called out in frustration.

The panther (jaguar, to be specific) ignored the archer, taking a sharp turn and bolting down another alley. He needed to get off the street before he hit a dead end and actually had to face Clint, because it appeared as though he wouldn't be losing him any time soon. If there was going to be conflict, he wanted it away from civilians. Both for their safety and to avoid the public eye of course. 

As he cut down another narrow passage, he saw a large pile of crates in the corner and lunged for them. With incredible agility he clambered from one box to the next, climbing the pile and then making a leap of faith for the roof. He just barely managed to land with his torso on the roof, which gave him enough traction to claw and scrabble his way up. Panting lightly, he turned to peer back at his pursuer. Could he make it up that?

Clint's head is up and swiveling before zeroing in on the cat up on the roof. He spring-boarded onto the crates and off a wall to get ahold of a window ledge. After that the archer easily clambered onto the narrow ledge; with that in hand he swung his legs up to pull himself over. He was an acrobat many moons ago. He hasn't lost those skills.

Impressive. T'Challa obviously wasn't dealing with an amateur here. Growling softly, the feline backed away from Clint, putting space between them. He could keep running, but this was rapidly getting pointless and he was tired. They both probably were. Whoever this was, they were going to settle it now.

He stopped backing up once there was a good amount of space between them and gave a soft warning growl. They were on the outskirts of town, and no one was around. At least if this guy wanted to fight there would be no onlookers.

The second he heard growling Clint's bow was up and an arrow notched. He moved, stepping sideways to try to put himself in the way of a possible exit to the next building over. The archer was breathing just a little heavily, but not panting or hyperventilating. Like it had been a jog, not a pursuit.

"Okay big guy, just so you know wearing all black and slinking around and running when an Avenger follows you, not stellar marks."

T'Challa suddenly stood up straight, cocking his head to one side. Avenger? He was somewhat familiar with the group but he hadn't considered that this man could be one of them. The bow... Purple outfit... This must be the one called Hawkeye. He chuffed loudly, amused with the whole situation. There was really no need for either of them to be chasing the other when they were more or less on the same side.

Without giving Clint a warning, the king changed back into a human shape, still chuckling as he climbed to his feet. He was, of course, completely nude. It didn't seem to bother him though, as he proceeded to give the other man a small bow. "Forgive me, I was unaware of who I was dealing with."

"Oh you are so naked right now." The archer doesn't look away or drop his bow. He keeps it up and steady on the other man. Clint's eyebrow went up at the bow and he snorted. "Yeah. That's right. My reputation proceeds me huh? Would've been nice if you'd figured that out before you made me run... and still had clothes..."

T'Challa grinned, still incredibly amused. "Does my nudity bother you? I had heard that America was more sensitive about clothing but I suppose I did not believe it," he mused, completely ignoring the fact that there was a weapon pointed at him.

"I did not recognize you in the dark. And as long as we are introducing ourselves..." He took a slow step forward, lifting his hands to show that he meant no aggression. "My name is T'Challa. I am here as an ambassador for my country." Wakanda still wasn't a well known or recognized country, so he highly doubted Clint had heard of it. They were still in negotiations with America in terms of peace and joining the UN, so for now Wakanda was still completely independent. They were fairly under the radar.

"Lets just say that I've seen better." Clint smirked a little and flared his nostrils. That weapon is going to stay pointed at him until Clint has a damn good reason not to. He didn't give any space when T'Challa stepped closer, standing his ground despite the larger man's approach.

"Ambassador... right. Lemme stand by while you pull your credentials out of no where to prove that. Want me to play along? Ambassador of where?"

T'Challa dropped his hands since it was clear he had no where to hide weapons on his body. It wasn't like he was more or less dangerous in a relaxed position. "I do not blame you for not believing me. I am from Wakanda. You work for an organization called SHIELD, yes? Contact them if you need proof, I have already spoken with its director in the past. He agreed your organization would remain out of my country." That had been quite the argument, but T'Challa won out on sheer willpower alone. He didn't want anyone who didn't belong trying to run his country, even if they were there to help. Shield would bring more trouble than help if they did start a base there. That had been a year ago, and he still hadn't changed his mind. 

"Little behind on the times, aren't ya? Nick Fury and SHIELD are dead and gone. HYDRA made sure of that. You're gonna have to float me a few more specifics than just a name a proposed title. And a good reason why you were slinking around for?" Clint's eyes tracked the movement of his hands but make no mistake that Clint can hit his target with his eyes shut or head turned. And despite the weight of the bowstring and pull there was no waver or shake in Clint's arm, hand or body.

He couldn't tell if he'd actually annoyed this man or if he was just snarky and sarcastic all the time. It seemed like the former, since they had run quite a bit.

T'Challa's eyebrows rose at the response; this was news to him. He had only just arrived a day ago, and hadn't had a chance to check in with his business ventures. "I am sorry," he said carefully, "I meant no disrespect. I was not aware of this change." His gaze flitted from the bow to the stranger's face. There wasn't much he could do or say to prove his case now, was there? "I do not know what you wish from me. I was merely attempting to study the night life here, seeing as I know so little about your country. The costume was for the benefit of my own self protection. Short of taking you to my dwellings, I do not truly have a way to prove my sincerity."

"Well you definitely aren't going anywhere without pants... what country?" He needed more info. Clint was reasonable. He would listen. Hear people out. But secrecy was his pet peeve and so far the other male wasn't very forth coming. "Pony up guy unless you wanna freeze your huevos off all night ina stalemate. And the truth please."

T'Challa was going to point out that yes he had said what country, and Clint apparently wasn't listening, but all of his slang threw the foreigner off. His brows knitted together in confusion and he gave Clint a perplexed look.

"Pony... Up? Freeze off my what?" T'Challa was a fairly intuitive man but these idioms were lost on him.

Clint rolled his eyes. "You said you're from Wakanda. No one is from Wakanda. Nobody comes here from Wakanda. Wakanda might as well not exist except for what Howard Stark got out of it in the Forties for the SHIELD..." Clint's mind raced and an idea crossed his mind.

"Draw the Wakandan symbol for thief."

It was the only symbol he knew. From the brand he'd seen on Ulysses Klaww's neck. It was an obscure symbol... not much of a test but it would give something for Clint to hang onto.

T'Challa was mildly irritated that Clint didn't answer his questions. Later, he resolved, later he would look around and find the meaning of these strange phrases. Clint's challenge made him scoff. "With what? I will happily oblige- I have branded that symbol into more than one traitorous wretch." He too was thinking of his age old enemy Ulysses Klaww.

Clint's eyes narrowed a bit. He knew for a fact he hadn't said anything about brands or marks. That's a step in the right direction. But Clint wasn't a guy that trusted easily, despite how friendly and welcoming he could be in a normal situation.

"Draw it on your palm with your finger."

T'Challa took a slow step towards Clint, obviously trying not to make any sudden movements. There was, after all, an arrow pointed at him. Holding out his palm, he slowly traced the symbol. He repeated it a few times so that there was no mistaking what he was drawing. It was indeed the same symbol Clint had seen on Klaww's neck.

After a moment the bolt tip dropped away and he relaxed his stance to standing upright. It was another moment before he slipped the bolt back into his quiver and his bow over his head and chest.

"T'Challa, Ambassador of Wakanda. Do me a favor and don't advise you guys go to war with the US cause I chased you and pointed a weapon at you. I'd never live it down..."

Only when Clint put down the bow did T'Challa relax. He stretched out muscles that had been tensed, keeping Clint in the corner of his vision as he did so. He would feel foolish if Clint took him by surprise, so for now he would trust, but with a wary eye.

"That would be foolish. I do not actively seek out war for my country," T'Challa replied, taking him seriously. He had provoked Clint anyway. They were even as far as he was concerned.

"What are you doing skulking around New York like that? You do realize there are more hair trigger vigilantes in the area than there are in the rest of the country, right? Most of em are spoiling for a fight to." Clint was doing his best not to check the guy out so he busies himself with looking over the sides of the roof for a possible alternative to nudity.

T'Challa narrowed his eyes a fraction, arms folding behind his back in a somewhat regal pose. He wasn't used to being questioned, and he didn't appreciate it very much. "As I am given to understand, this is a free country. My activities are my own, and I am quite entitled to them."

Clint's eyes narrowed. He snorted and moved closer, folding his arms over his chest.

"Be that as it may this is _my_ neighborhood. Don't tell me for one second that if I was sneaking around the Wakandan suburbs you would let me get away with an answer like that. Plus you ran when I followed you. You made me run. You owe me a little bit of an answer at least."

T'Challa closed the distance between them, leaving a small gap as he glared down at the archer.

"If I caught someone sneaking around Wakanda I would not have given them the chance that you have given me," he snapped dangerously. Clint didn't realize how serious he was about the protection of his country. Then again, Clint didn't know he was talking to the king. He thought T'Challa was just an ambassador. "If you must know, I was studying the culture and night life of this city. And the security- if you wish to call it that. I could have easily escaped your grasp, could have taken you down if I had truly wanted. Anyone can sneak around in these streets and go unnoticed. It is no wonder your country is so unsafe."

Clint chuffed. "Oh see. I knew there was something about you I couldn't figure out. I just got it. Just now. Big bad puddy tat. You're an asshole. Thats it! I got it! I figured it out. I knew I would."

The archer's lips pulled up into a deceptivly casual smile. There was a dangerous edge to it, like poisioned honey. "Cause see if you weren't all you had to do was come find somebody and say 'hey! I'm gonna have a look around!' And we'd say 'okay partner, you want a go bag with extra clothes just incase you do that naked cat thing?' We're not hard to find. We're in that big ass tower with a giant 'A' on the side. But see you didn't. Now you're sore about the fact that you got caught."

T'Challa gave him a look so full of venom that it was surprising that Clint didn't burst into flame. No one had dared insult him before, let alone so vividly, and it angered him greatly. If it weren't for his skill at keeping composure, he would've put the archer in his place. But, as it were, he didn't want war between the countries, and he had no idea if attacking this man would lead to those kinds of conflicts.

"I do not answer to you or your team," he replied simply, taking a step away. He wouldn't lower himself to this man's level by arguing back. "If you are finished insulting me, we are done here."

"It's not answering to someone. Its called courtesy." Clint's smile us turning into a smirk. He's enjoying himself too much and if he's not careful he's going to get punched in the face. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Is it cause I'm human? That why you're grumpy? C'mon. Don't be so butthurt, I'm not a bad guy. Look. Stay here a minute and I'll got get your clothes how about that?"

T'Challa's nerves were very frayed at this point. Clint was lucky he had patience. The king took a slow, deep breath through his nose and then released it, telling himself that it wasn't worth it.

"You have the nerve to call me names and then the arrogance to act surprised when it displeases me. I do not want anything from you. Unfortunately, you will have to find another stranger to harass. I am leaving." With that he turned and made for the other side of the roof, shoulders squared with determination. Clint really had offended him- and calling him grumpy hadn't helped. T'Challa wasn't normally so prissy but he really hadn't been insulted before. People who knew him were too afraid to- who in their right mind would insult a very powerful king?

"Hey! C'mon! I'm sorry! Don't run off just yet, thinking New Yorkers are all buttholes like me. Seriously. Let me go get your clothes then I'll buy ya a coffee or a slice of pizza. Prove that I'm not just a mouthy little shit." Clint trotted after him and fell into step next to T'Challa. He doesn't touch him or crowd him but he's not going to let him just run off.

T'Challa turned to sneer at Clint, betraying just how much the words from before had gotten to him. He did stop, though.

"What gives you the right," he began, "to say such disrespectful things and then assume I will forgive you? Are you truly sorry? Or do you fear my wrath?" Coming from someone else it may have been a joke, but T'Challa was serious. He wasn't someone to be messed with.

"... Make it a whole pizza and I may consider forgiving you. If you do not continue to insult me."

"Look me in the eye." Clint pointed to his eyes. The odd mix of blue, green and gray curling with honesty. "I'm sorry. Alright? It was out of line." Sorry, yes. Afraid, no. Far from it. There were few things he was afraid of and specific people were not one of them.

"I can definitely promise a whole pizza but I'm not the best at curbing my tongue all that well. But I'll try."

T'Challa met Clint's gaze with his own, brown eyes scanning the other man's for any sign of dishonesty. He couldn't find any there, just the truth. For now, that would be enough. Apart from the name calling, Clint hadn't seemed like a bad person.

"Very well. I accept your offer," he replied, some of the tension leaving his frame. "But I will need clothes."

Clint grinned when the shapeshifter gave in, clapping his hands together once. "Sit tight for a few minutes. Don't run off. I wanna hear about the animal change form thing you just did. Ten minutes max. If I'm not back in ten minutes you can just bail."

Without waiting Clint bounded to the edge of the roof and dove off, T'Challa's gaze following him as he plunged out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kittyhawk is a little-known/nonexistent marvel ship that theplanetmary and I discovered. T'Challa and Clint aren't exactly a conventional couple, but with the right build up, they make quite a pair. This fic will go through their first meeting (which isn't canon!) and whatever happens beyond. There will eventually be a relationship and possibly explicit content, so stay tuned!

Clint sat back when they brought the little metal stand over to their table and placed the large pizza right on top. Steam and the rich smell of meat and cheese flooded the small booth.

They must look odd. Clint in his full uniform and combat gear and T'Challa in his all black body suit. Luckily the Wakandan's clothes had still been on the street when Clint retraced their steps. The city of New York seems to be more and more at ease with people walking around in a hero get up. At least when it’s a recognized Avenger.

He sipped his root beer and watched the other curiously from across the table, soaking in all the details about him he could. T'Challa had to take off the mask in order to eat, so it hung off the back of his costume like a hood. He didn't seem bothered that people could see his face, which was for two reasons. One being that no one knew him here, and the other being that he wasn't afraid to stand up for his country. His identity wasn't something he would hide, not when the land he cared about was at stake. The king inhaled deeply as the pizza was set down, sighing happily. "Do you know," he started, already serving himself a slice, "that pizza is a delicacy in my country? We have one restaurant. I visit twice a week." That wasn't an exaggeration. T'Challa loved pizza, and could be frequently found in Wakanda's one Italian restaurant. He and the owner were good friends. He ignored Clint's scrutiny in favor of savoring his little slice of heaven. The archer would ask questions inevitably, so he was waiting for that.

There certainly were going to be questions but probably not the ones he expected. Clint was an expert interrogator. He knew how to talk his information out of someone. He was genuinely curious about T'Challa.

"Only one restaurant? Damn. I think we got more pizzerias than we do schools and hospitals in this city. What’s your favorite? "

T'Challa practically inhaled the first slice, yet still managed to have an air of dignity of about him. It was a weird combination but watching him Clint decided that it suited T’Challa in some way.

"Unfortunately yes. We may have more if we allow more outsiders into the country. Personally I like a style called 'meat lover's'," he replied with a delighted hum.

"Why so strict about... 'outsiders'?" Clint pulled a slice free for himself. He ate his a little more delicately than the other man but he wasn't to be out done. "I guess it makes sense if it’s a cultural thing but if you're willing to let a few in... I dunno. Guess it just doesn't make sense to me..."

"Security, mostly. Wakanda has been sealed off from the rest of the world up until very recently, and we are very reluctant to allow others in even now that we have made our existence known. This world is very corrupt... We intend to stay away from that kind of trouble," T'Challa explained calmly, already serving himself a second slice.

"There's corruption everywhere. It happens wherever there's people. Sealed off or not. And staying isolated... maybe that worked to curb it but you guys missed out on a lot of the good stuff. Like, hell, I dunno. Pizza I guess. And probably coffee. Books, art, global rights movements, Bob Dylan... a lot of stuff. With bad comes good..."

Clint was quiet for a second and took another sip of his root beer before a bite of pizza.

"When Pandora opened the box at the bottom was Hope... I dunno. Guess it doesn't matter now. Since you guys are taking a step out."

T'Challa wiped his mouth with a napkin and regarded Clint. "And yet, we have very little to no crime, have avoided and created cures for many sicknesses, and have kept ourselves out of war. I do not mean to be rude, that is just our way. If the people did not like it, I would change it. We may be a monarchy, but we are very democratic at the same time. I like to believe it is why the country functions so well."

"It's not rude, it is what it is. I'm sure you guys think a lot of the stuff we do is pretty off the wall." Clint's head cocked to the side as he listened. He heard everything that T'Challa said but he also heard what _hadn't_ been said. He finished his slice of pizza in silence but once it was gone and he'd scrubbed his hands off on a napkin he pointed that the other man.

"You're the King of Wakanda."

T'Challa had forgotten that he hadn't told Clint. It just wasn't his concern anymore whether or not the archer knew his title, because he was much more than that, but it didn't matter now.

"I am," he agreed, eyeballing a third slice. He wondered idly if Clint would feel any differently knowing just exactly who he was.

"That actually explains a lot." Clint took a second slice for himself, he set it on a paper plate and shook out a little parmesan and red pepper flakes onto the top before lifting it and folding it up in half. He bit into the crust first, eating it backwards this time. "The way you talk and the grumpiness and the way you walk and everything. Still probably one of the better royals I've ever met at least. You got good taste going for you with the whole pizza thing. Though this is nothing compared to my homemade pie."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn't really that grumpy, was he? The king liked to think of himself as reserved, not grumpy. It was strange to hear someone speak so bluntly of him. Not many did though he tried to encourage the behavior with his people and counsel. "I do wish you would stop saying that," he sighed, getting that third piece. He'd transformed and run a mile; he was hungry.

"Now you know. Does that change anything for you?" After all, Clint had said it like it was a startling revelation.

"Not really, should it?" Clint hissed a little at the addition of the red pepper to the slice and quickly sloshed it down with the last of his root beer.

"I mean, ranks and stuff, they're important but not as but not as important as the way you act and treat everyone around you. It sounds like you really want to do right by your country and take care of your people so I know you're a good leader. But I dunno if you're a good _person_ yet. I haven't known you long enough." Clint reached up and fiddled with something in his ear, face turning to one of concentration for a minute before it passed.

"No," T'Challa replied with a shrug, his eyes tracked the movement and he subtly tried to glimpse at whatever it was the archer had messed with. "Although of the two of us, only one of us has been doing name-calling..." He shrugged, completely oblivious to how prissy he was being. "I would like to believe I am a good person, but that choice is not up to me."

"It's not name calling. It’s teasing. Haven't you ever been teased before? Like by your buddies or sibs?" Clint had spent so many years stuck in the Iowa foster care system before running away to the circus he might as well had had dozens of brothers and sisters.

Clint pushed the parmesan towards him. "Try that on top. It's awesome. If you like spicy the red pepper, too."

"Not that I can remember. I have a half-sister but I have not known her for long enough to be teased," T'Challa replied truthfully. Going on Clint's word, he sprinkled a hearty amount of Parmesan and red peppers on the top of his pizza. Upon tasting it, he found Clint to be truthful- it was really good that way.

"Stick around. You'll get broken into it." Clint gave a thumbs up and slumped back into his seat, he gave a long stretch. So the shapeshifter thing? I figured it was just something you guys could do but since you're the king is it a king thing or a Wakandan thing?"

T'Challa eyed Clint thoughtfully. This man was probing awfully deep for someone he'd just met. For all the king knew, he was digging for information against Wakanda. But, he did seem to be who he said he was, so T'Challa decided to give him some information.

"I would say neither, seeing as I am the first and only person in my country with the ability. It was more of a gift... A means to save a struggling country if you will."

_So a metahuman,_ the archer thought to himself. Clint nodded to himself. "Gotta tell you I'm glad I've seen stuff like that before or I probably would have pooped myself."

Clint smiled, chuckled and pulled a hunk of sausage off a slice of pizza and popped it in his mouth. "It was amazing. You did it so fast."

With a faint smile, the King replied, "It took years of practice to be able to do that so quickly. I use it to protect my country when necessary... Not that I cannot fight on my own." Whatever the situation called for, he would do.

"Awe c'mon. I'd be running around in the fur all day long. They'd have to bribe me out of it." Clint motioned the waiter over, asking for a to go box to put the food away.

T'Challa Panther "It is enjoyable," T'Challa admitted sheepishly. When no one was around he would just lay in sun patches for hours. It was a guilty pleasure.

"So. You want to still grab that coffee? I did promise both. And I'm not done proving that I'm not a jerk yet." The archer grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"I would like that, yes. Thank you."

Clint smiled and pulled out his wallet. He dropped a few bills on the table and packed the rest of the pizza in the box before leading the way out of the pizzeria. The archer stays at the other male's side. Walking quietly and only speaking to point out directions. It wasn't long before it was obvious he was leading them to Avenger's Tower.

T'Challa followed him out, equally silent. He was a quiet man to begin with, and wasn't known for ‘blathering on; so to speak. That and he wasn't sure what he should even say to the archer. That changed when he noticed where they were headed, though. "I assume I will be allowed to leave at my own will," he said with a small smirk, because yes, he was capable of humor. And he doubted Clint was trying to wrangle him into a jail cell.

"Well that’s if you want to. It’s quite the playground in there." Clint smiled, relaxing as T'Challa did. Feeding off the other's tension was a bit exhausting. He was glad that the King was starting to relax.

Clint led the way the last block or so to the Tower and climbed up to the door. He scanned his palm on a key pad and held the door for T'Challa to enter.

"Oh, I am sure," T'Challa agreed, stepping inside and peering about. The lobby was nice. Plain. "Anthony Stark built this building, yes?"

"Yeah. Him and Pepper Potts. Green energy or something with a mega-reactor. And it’s Tony. He doesn’t really like hearing ‘Anthony’ at all.”

Clint led the way over to an elevator. Another security check and up the elevator they went to the state of the art kitchen. The King hummed in acknowledgement, almost sounding amused. He didn't mean to be rude; it was just interesting to him that this was considered clean energy.

Clint rooted through the cabinets until he found something flavorful and bright. He pulled it down and grabbed the coffee grinder and pulled the coffee maker over. "How often you drink the java?"

"Not often, to be truthful. I much prefer tea, but coffee is good. Provided it is sweet enough." The king had a bit a of a sweet tooth, and couldn't abide by bitter coffee. Why drink something revolting when it could be made into something delicious with a little bit of sugar?

"This one is vanilla buttered caramel. And I have some cream." Clint ground the beans before dumping the powder into the coffee maker, added water and clicked it on.

It gurgled and bubbled and started to steam quietly while Clint brought down mugs. "Bet this isn't what you expected your evening to end up like.”

T'Challa snorted and leaning against the counter instead of sitting down. "You could say that. If anything I expected to be apprehending thugs. But this is nice too."

"All work and no play, my dear fuzz butt." Clint went to the refrigerator for a glass bottle of cream and brought that to the table. By then the coffee is ready to be poured and into the mugs it goes before adding a large dollop of cream to his own and offers it over to the king.

"So why come here yourself? Why not have an ambassador come through. Or did you really just want to crack a few American mutts’ skulls?" T'Challa wrinkled his nose at the name calling, but this time let it go. It seemed to be friendly, not insulting.

"If you want something done right, you do it yourself. I have complete confidence in my ambassadors, but I wanted to take full responsibility. If something should befall Wakanda from an alliance with America, it shall be at no one's fault but my own. To make sure that does not happen, I came myself to oversee things."

"... to speak candidly you might be better off contracting with individuals, not America as a whole... I mean I love my country. I'll kill or die for it... but seriously. Look who's leading the presidential polls. I really don't blame you one bit for playing close to vest."

It’s about that time that a pretty, deceptively petite red head padded into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of coffee. She wore only an oversized, purple tee shirt. He bare feet silent on the floor. She stopped and glared at the stranger. Standing up straighter and clearly seeming to come more awake than she had been. He red hair bobbed a little and sharp eyes flashed from the King to Clint and back.

"Tasha this is T'Challa. T'Challa, Natasha Romanoff." Clint introduced.

Natasha sent another glare towards Clint before silently collecting a mug, filling it, adding cream. She punched Clint sharply in the arm and growled something in Russian as she walked back out.

Clint glared at her back, rubbing his arm. "That hurt..."

The King looked up as the door opened, surprised to see someone else in the kitchen. It was pretty late at night for someone to be drinking coffee... Or was it technically morning now?

He carefully masked his surprise at her state of undress (ironic yes, and he's unaware of it) but stood anyway, trying to be polite and attempting to introduce himself. His words are cut off by her snarl and abrupt exit, leaving the king looking after her in surprise. For a moment he just stood there in surprise, then he sat back down with a hearty laugh.

"I do not think your friend likes being intruded upon."

"Well we're used to each other, we don't usually warm up easily but we're getting better recently what with pulling in Wanda and Sam and Scotty and then some. But Tasha's a Russian super spy, that's her whole deal." Clint reached to his ear and fiddle with something in it again, he seemed to be adjusting or tuning something. The King wasn’t sure what it was but he assumed it was a kind of communicator. Possibly connecting Clint to other on-duty Avengers.

T'Challa didn't need to know that the search for Bruce was wearing on her. That it wasn’t going well at all and the Widow was suffering for it, though she refused to show it or let it slow her down. That wasn't shared information.

T'Challa composed himself once more and sipped at his coffee. "I did not know your team was taking people in," he commented. The Avengers had seemed like an elitist group before, yet Clint had just listed off quite a few names. Not that he cared; he was just speculating.

"Anybody we think that can and wants to make a difference is welcome to throw their name into the hat. We do a lot of background check stuff and check on their history and what they can do. Do a lot of training and testing before someone is an 'official' Avenger I guess. We try to play pretty freeform because we know everyone's got strengths and weaknesses and other lives. Like Scott's got his kid and Tony's doing his thing with Miss Pep. Sam does his work with the Vets. Thor goes back and forth between here and Asgard. It's pretty rare that we want all hands on deck but the bigger the roster the more help we can offer and different situations that we can take care of. Though we don't necessarily recruit unless we really think they could be an asset to us."

Clint cocked his head towards the other male.

"You should laugh more."

T'Challa nodded here and there throughout Clint's explanation, agreeing with it all wholeheartedly. He had been skeptical at first; a team of heroes that went around accepting people willy nilly probably wasn't that sturdy. But with Clint's explanation, he had a clearer picture. They seemed fairly professional.

He lost his train of thought when Clint spoke again. In reply he blinked rapidly and asked, "I beg your pardon?"

"You should laugh more. You're way cuter when you laugh than when you're all huffy. Your nose crinkles up. It's adorable." Clint shrugged and added a little more cream to his coffee before taking another little drink. He swallowed it with a hum.

That was not what T'Challa had expected Clint to say. His face burned with embarrassment- since when did people say things like that to people they just met?

The poor king was a bit of a prude. He'd never been in a relationship, let alone flirted with, so this wasn't something he was used to handling.

"Thank you... I think," he managed.

"You're welcome." Clint grinned hugely when he saw the blush. He considered teasing the king further but decided against it and sipped his coffee with a rumbling humming sound.

He finished off his coffee and set the mug in the sink before looking around towards the other.

"Top off or gonna make yourself scarce?" The King was glad when the moment passed. He wasn't sure how he would've responded to anything else.

"I think I will be retiring for the evening. Thank you for the coffee and pizza." He brought his mug to the sink, not rude enough to leave it on the table.

Clint reached for the box of pizza and scribbled a quick few numbers on the inside of the lid, then closed the lid and hands the carton over to the King. "That’s all yours. It’s always better cold in the morning for breakfast. I'll walk you out."

T'Challa tried to peer at the words on the lid, but Clint closed it before he could make them out. He accepted them with a murmur of thanks, allowing Clint to show him outside. "Thank you for all of this. I... Apologize for the trouble this evening.”

"Wasn't any trouble. It was fun." Clint chuckled and walked along next to T'Challa, keying the way out of the kitchen, down the elevator and through the lobby to the main door. He held it open to let him out.

"Don't be a stranger, fuzz butt. My feelings would be hurt."

T'Challa gave him another strange look. "Very well then. Good night," he said, and with another small bow left the building. Clint Barton was a strange man indeed...


	3. Chapter 3

T'Challa hadn't discovered the little message inside the pizza box until the next day. He'd taken Clint's advice to have cold pizza for breakfast, and that was when he saw it.

A date, a time, and a location. At first the king wasn't sure what to make of it. Obviously it meant Clint wished to see him again, but why? He wasn't totally oblivious; he thought it might be for personal reasons. Or, perhaps this was about the Avengers. After all, Clint had mentioned that they wanted to build up their team. If this was about joining the team, or even allying with them, then he was still undecided. There being no explanation on the box however, T'Challa had no choice but to go in order to find out what it all meant. He'd debated putting on his uniform, but then decided against it. The location was in a very public place, and he got the sense that maybe he was supposed to blend in.

That was why at 3:00pm, on the dot, T'Challa waited next to a fountain in Central Park, dressed in formal business attire (which consisted of a gray suit jacket and pants, with a light purple tie) for something to happen.

If Clint had known that T'Challa was going to be dressed so sharply he would have probably dressed a bit better himself, but as it was the archer ambled up in worn jeans and his favorite purple t-shirt and chucks. A saddle bag over his chest and bouncing aginst his hip, he strolled on through the park, brightening up when he say the King waiting for him. 

"Hey! Thanks for coming! I kinda figured you'd be too busy or something," he greeted, eyeballing the suit. He probably should have specified a dress code, but then again who wore business-formal out and about?

T'Challa turned at the sound of Clint's voice, looking the man up and down in somewhat confusion. That definitely wasn't business attire... So what had Clint asked him here for?

"Certainly. I would not schedule two things at the same time," he answered, having assumed this was official business. It seemed he had taken things too seriously.

Clint chuckled and rocked a little on his heels. "Well. It was an invite written on the insinde of a pizza box. I wouldn't have blamed you." 

One hand moved up and fiddled with the device in his ear before speaking again. "There. Sorry, had to turn it up, you're so soft spoken so I have to crank up the volume a little. Not a bad thing but with my pack of buddies I'm not used to it. Anyways I wanted to see if you wanted to take a real tour of New York?"

T'Challa tilted his head, pondering for a moment before he understood. Clint had some degree of deafness- otherwise what he'd just said wouldn't have made sense.

"I apologize. I will try to speak more loudly from now on. Is that better?" He asked, raising his voice slightly. T'Challa didn't want to shout but he also wanted Clint to be able to hear him.

The offer made him pause. "You wish to give me a tour?" Not what he'd expected, yet... Appreciated. He still didn't know his way around. "I would like that."

"It's good, don't worry about it. The city's so loud I have to keep everything turned down." Clint grinned when he accepted.

"Awesome. Hope its not too forward. I just figured if your way of looking at the city is running around after bad guys you're not gonna see much of the good stuff."

T'Challa wanted to comment about the 'good stuff' since he hadn't seen anything particularly fascinating yet, but held his tongue. He wasn't a rude person by any means, and besides, Clint hadn't shown him yet. Maybe the beauty had to be explained to be understood.

"I agree. Thank you for this opportunity." T'Challa glanced down at his clothes and smiled sheepishly. "I may have overdressed. There was no description on the box." He was hoping Clint didn't think him stupid for that. He hadn't really thought about the fact that this was a personal meeting.

"Nah you look awesome. All shiny like a new penny. I promise next time I send you a message via pizza box I'll specify dress." Clint grinned and motioned him to follow. "How about we hit the Garden and then try one of the museums first?"

T'Challa loosened his collar and cleared his throat, trying not to feel so self conscious. Clint didn't seem to mind anyway, so it didn't matter how he dressed.

"Those both sound wonderful. Lead on, sir."

"We can walk through the Garden to get to the museum. They're both connected to the zoo but we can leave that for now. We can't do everything in one afternoon and evening can we?" Clint shrugged. That was if T'Challa wanted to do this again. Clint thought this was going well, but then again, who knew what could happen to upset the king. Nothing, he hoped.

The man in question nodded his agreement, falling in step beside Clint. "That is true. I would be thrilled to see the zoo eventually, though."

They followed the path along to a rose garden in late summer bloom into a large garden of flora native to the United States, the entire garden bursting with vibrant colors. Clint pointed out the lilac bushes specifically. Then on into a glass pane greenhouse full of exotic plants they went. It also included an indoor rainforest meant to simulate the Amazon, which T'Challa seemed to particularly enjoy.

T'Challa was a good listener. As Clint listed all the plants he would examine each one, paying special attention to his favorites. Specifically he liked the snapdragons- they were unique.

"In Wakanda we have greenhouses for our studies, but none are public attractions. This is... Quite an interesting concept. I like it."

"I'm guessing alot of stuff that goes on in your city is centered around science and advancement and stuff and less entertainment?" Clint cocked his head a bit.

"Alot of this stuff has been around for a hundred years or more, built in the Victorian era and just kept up and taken care of. I think they sectioned off Central Park itself in the 1850s or something like that. It's almost 900 acres. There's tons of ponds and nooks and crannies, horse stables, there's a castle on one of the lakes, in the winter there's ice skating on the pond, the zoo, the gardens, the museum, all kinds of events all year long, plays and carnivals and exhibits. Last year Steve actually was able to put some of his art into an amature expo they hosted in the park. He didn't win anything but we all got dressed up and went."

They exited the glass house and were back on the paths. Clint smiled.

"Alright so we got two choices. Museum of Natural History on this side or we can go to the other side of the park and see the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenhiem. What's your poison?"

T'Challa nodded in agreement. Wakanda had things to do, it wasn't like they were completely free of entertainment. However, much of the country was dedicated to science, as Clint had said, and much of the population was well educated.

"That is quite impressive," he replied, trying to imagine the entire park being open to the public. That was like someone wandering into the jungle back home.

He thought for a moment, wrinkling his brow. "I have no idea what a Guggenheim is, and I would quite like to hear about your history, so let us proceed to the museum."

"The Guggenheim is another part of the art museum. It's just more art stuff." Clint shrugged and turned them towards the right path and led out towards the street and the towering museum.

"I've been in here a couple times. I like the dinosaurs. But its got all these different halls in here for different parts of the world with mounted animals put into 'habitats' and exhibits and stuff. There's a hall of nothing but extinct species. It's kinda sad but yanno, interesting I guess."

Clint paid the admission at the door and then pointed to a map directory. "Alright, you choose. Where do you want to go? I bet the Hall of African Mammals is probably a little redundant. There's Asia, North America, the North American flora stuff, Sea Life, the cultural stuff like about people and history and everything. There's meteorites, minerals and gems. Space and then the labs. And dinos of course."

T'Challa took all of this in stride, despite the fact that Clint had listed quite a few things just then. It sounded like there was a lot to see and do here, but he doubted they had enough time to see everything.

"Let's start with the animals of your continent, and work our way around. We can finish on the dinosaurs. Is that alright?" Later he would come and probably look at everything, but he didn't want to waste Clint's time. 

"Sounds awesome to me. You're gonna freak out when you see how big a moose can get."

Clint led them on a casual amble through the North American exhibit, occasionally snapping photos on his phone. From there they worked through to the North American Habitats and Sea Life. It's at the Meteorite Hall that Clint pauses. "I think they have whats left of the Meteorite that they made Steve's shield out of in here somewhere."

The trip was fun. T'Challa had never been to a museum so large, and he occasionally marveled at some of the animals that North America had to offer. Especially those that endured the harsh winters. He listened attentively to all that Clint had to say, only interrupting to ask a question or get a closer look.

Everything was going great until they got to the Meteorite room. "Do they now?" He asked quietly, his face going blank.

"Maybe? I dunno for sure or not but I think I remember Steve mentioning it was donated under the pretense that no one actually knew what it was. Hiding in plain sight kind of thing." Clint noticed that something was off but couldn't tell exactly what yet. T'Challa didn't seem right.

"May I see it?" T'Challa inquired politely, putting on a smile. Inside he was seething- the U.S. knew that Wakanda was keeping vibranium under lock and key. They were the safest place to keep it, yet America was hiding some from him? He was offended to say the least.

"Lemme text him and see if it's here and if he knows where it is. Let's walk around and see if we can spot it... yanno you went all stiff and rocky just now. Are you okay?" Clint may be stone deaf but his eyes missed nothing. He notices the tightening in T'Challa's face and neck. His hands.

T'Challa relaxed incrementally, trying not to be suspicious about it.

"I was briefly irritated, to tell you the truth. Such a scientific commodity should be studied, not displayed. But, you are right, this is a good way of keeping it safe," he lied, and there was a bit of bitterness in his voice when he mentioned keeping it safe. America didn't know what it was doing.

Clint didn't move. Just watched him. Read everything he could see right off the other's face and body. Picked up what he could off T'Challa's words. Suspicion crossed his face and he seemed a little uncertain before carefully moving further into the display hall.

"I wouldn't really say its a good way to keep it safe but it's probably been here since the Forties so whoever knows about it is dead or senile or not really the type to blab about it...course I just told you and you're getting all worked up now..."

T'Challa sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He considered telling Clint the truth, but the man was still a stranger. An outsider. He couldn't possibly understand the implications of this, and why T'Challa had to get it back.

"I apologize. Let us go to the dinosaurs instead, and put this all behind us," he suggested with a hopeful smile. He didn't want to discuss it any further. But later he would be back.

"... but you just said you wanted to see it..." Clint stopped as he came up next to a massive meteorite collected from the recent Russian shower.

He glanced at the hall then nodded, put on a smile. "Never mind. Sure. Let's head over to the fossil halls. I think they just put in something about Mega-Fauna recently."

T'Challa was relieved when Clint let it go. He didn't want this to ruin their day. He really was enjoying himself, even if he was mad about the vibranium. "That sounds interesting. Giant animals?" He started walking in that direction. Away from the hall of meteorites. For now.

"Yanno like mammoths and mastedons and smilidons and stuff." Clint's a little more wary now, a little less sure of himself so he's less animated than before the conversation about the meteorite. It's on his mind, the meteorite and T'Challa's reaction.

They wander through the bones and rendered sculptures but Clint's heart doesn't seem in it the way it was. He paused in front of a Stegosaurus skeleton and looks towards T'Challa. "You want to blow this popsicle stand and get something to eat or something instead?"

T'Challa didn't miss Clint's drop in enthusiasm. He actually felt bad about it now; he hadn't meant to offend Clint or put him off. The archer had nothing to do with the meteorite, it wasn't fair to take his anger out on him.

"If you wish it," he replied, frowning. "I apologize if I ruined the day."

"Nah you didn't ruin anything, next time we'll just go to the art museum instead. C'mon. We'll go get a falafel and of you're up for it hit a couple other landmarks before calling it quits." Clint had been considering trying to end their little adventure at Coney Island but that might be a little too much. Maybe a visit to the boardwalk though.

Still unsure, T'Challa simply nodded and followed him out of the museum. He hated to come off as rude when the man had been so hospitable. He'd find a way to apologize, one way or another.

"A falafel?" He questioned curiously.

"It's a Middle Eastern thing, they make balls out of chickpeas and beans and fry em and then stick em in a pita with alot of veggies and stuff. It's vegetarian so I dunno if you'll like it what with the whole cat thing, though I'm pretty sure that they'll have some kind of lamb something or other on the menu if you'd rather have protein."

T'Challa waved a hand, determined to get back into Clint's good graces. "If you like it, then it is definitely worth a try," he insisted. He'd never had anything vegetarian before but he wasn't above trying new things.

They aren't bad, and I'm a pretty hard core meat eater myself." Clint led the way out of the building and up the sidewalk to a parked motorcycle. A sleek black and grey sport nike with a little purple pinstriping.

"Ever ridden a motorcycle before?"

The king was mildly surprised to see what their 'chariot' for the day was. A motorcycle. "I have not," he said, somewhat warily. It didn't exactly look like fun. Not that he was afraid. Just... wary.

"Then you have to wear the helmet." Clint held out the helmet towards the king before swinging a leg over the bike and settling down. There was clearly enough room for another to sit behind him on the seat and he turned the key. The bike hummed to life and sat purring softly on the curb.

"It's not really far. A mile or two."

T'Challa still looked at the machine dubiously, like it was going to eat him when he sat on it. With a sigh he fastened the helmet to his head and slid onto the bike, commenting dryly, "If I die on this machine, war might be a possibility."

"Don't be so dramatic, fuzz butt. You already used up your pass for the day. Hang on." Clint pulled away from the curb and wove into traffic. He kept the speed to minimum to at least assauge a few of the king's anxieties on the bike. Clint took them a couple miles from the park and pulled up in front of the Middle Eastern place not too far from the Tower.

"We get dinner here every Tuesday."

T'Challa was forced to hold Clint around the middle as the bike sped off, fearing he would fall if he didn't. The ride itself wasn't that bad, truthfully. It was just new. As they pulled up he slowly released the man, getting off of the bike and dusting himself off.

"That was pleasant enough," he commented, handing him back the helmet.

"See? No big deal." Clint set the helmet onto the bike and led T'Challa into the shop. Behind the counter the owner and staff greeted him and quickly took their orders for the felafel sandwiches. Seeing the familiarity with which Clint was greeted, T'Challa assumed that they really did come here often. It wasn't what he expected, but not a bad thing either.

It didn't take long before the order was passed over the counter and Clint held a sandwich towards T'Challa. It was packed full of greens and still warm from the oven, its scent wafting temptingly in T'Challa's direction.

"Be brutally honest."

Accepting the offered sandwich, T'Challa took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Different, but not altogether bad. The taste was pleasing enough.

"I like it," he said after swallowing. "It is not my favorite, but I would order it again." He didn't know why Clint assumed he wouldn't like it. Just because he could turn into a large cat didn't mean he hated all vegetables.

"Should've seen Tony eat it the first time. I thought he was doing to choke. It was a riot." Clint took his own big bite, dropped a tip in the jar an waved as they slipped out the door and back onto the sidewalk.

T'Challa snorted softly and took another bite, chewing slowly. He always made sure to swallow before speaking, though. "I don't see why. It is a good sandwich, just different."

"He's got a weird pallet. It's either all crappy junk food or million dollar cuisine with him. It's hard to pin him down." Clint chuckled. T'Challa just shook his head. If Tony was as spoiled as the media made him out to be, then the king was disappointed. "What other place did you wish to go to?" He asked between bites.

"Well I didn't want to over load you or anything. How about a riding tour down to the Boardwalk?" The beach and ocean were always worth going out of the way for, in Clint's opinion.

"I'd like that, I think. I have not been there yet." T'Challa had seen the ocean but he hasn't been in a long time. Let alone had a beach day.

Clint grinned, finishing off his sandwich and dusting his hands before swinging astride the bike again. Wordlessly he held out the helmet again, a small smirk on his features. T'Challa simply rolled his eyes and took the helmet, mounting the bike once more. Today definitely wasn't what he'd expected in terms of business.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kittyhawk is a little-known/nonexistent marvel ship that theplanetmary and I discovered. T'Challa and Clint aren't exactly a conventional couple, but with the right build up, they make quite a pair. This fic will go through their first meeting (which isn't canon!) and whatever happens beyond. There will eventually be a relationship and possibly explicit content, so stay tuned!

4.

"Tell me about Wakanda? " 

Clint padded along next to T'Challa as they walked the length of the Boardwalk. They'd already walked to one end and looked out over the ocean among the rides and stalls of the theme park overlooking the waterfront. 

Now they were back tracking to the land based end. Intentions to actually walk out onto the sand. They pause at the end of the pier to strip off shoes and socks before stepping into the sand and walking along to the water's edge. 

"Tell me about Wakanda and I'll tell you about the circus and the Rangers?"

T'Challa walked around at his side, jacket hung over his shoulder in one hand, and his shoes in the other. The sand felt good between his toes, and he didn't mind getting messy in favor of the experience. 

"What do you want to know?" He replied, looking out over the water.

Clint shrugged. His own shoes tucked into his saddle bag, jeans rolled up to his knees to walk on just the edge of the water, letting it slosh over his ankles. 

"Anything you want to tell. What you love about it. Hate about it. What it was like growing up. Anything..."

Well, that didn't help much, but T'Challa would do his best. 

"I... Cannot express my love for my country. It is my home. I would die to protect it. Let me see... We have a wet and dry season, but it is almost always hot. The city itself is surrounded by jungle and grassland. In a word, it is beautiful. The people are kind. They work together to solve problems, as a society should. We live in a mix of what you would call tribal and technologically advanced."

"I'm trying picture it. You guys have day to day tech like our phones and stuff like that?"Clint is in no way condescending or ignorant. He's genuinely curious and wants to know. He pauses and bends to pick up a piece of smooth green material. He grinned and held it up. 

"Sea glass."

"Well, it's more advanced than what you have, but yes, we have phones." T'Challa couldn't help but smirk slightly. He took pride in his country. The King paused to peer at the small object. "What's that?" 

"Sea glass. Its a piece of broken glass that got worn down by the water. You wanna be literal its trash. But it sure doesn't look like it, right?" Clint passed it over for him to look at it.

"Well I mean I just didn't know if it was part of the culture or not. Don't brag to Tony, he'll kill himself trying to out do your stuff. I've been to Africa a couple times but never around where Wakanda is. Last time I spent a whole two days at the Victoria Falls. Waiting for extraction. Loved it."

"Oh. That's remarkable," T'Challa replied as he examined the glass. It was very pretty, so he handed it back, thinking Clint would want to keep it. "We have gone to great lengths to stay hidden. Even our neighboring countries barely knew of. Only our existence. I must admit, it makes me nervous to be revealing ourselves at last."

The archer shook his head. "Nah. You can keep it. Pretty sure we'll find more. Or some shells maybe."

Clint hummed a little. "Anything worth doing is hard and scary as hell at first. The hard part might be people trying to take advantage, thinking you guys are naïve or something. But ya'll be alright. You'll make sure of it."

It probably sounds stupidly simplistic. Its one of the reasons Clint often is mistaken for unintelligent by those that don't know him. His propensity for sarcasm doesn't help much. With a shrug T'Challa pocketed the small treasure. He offered Clint a faint smile for his words- they were encouraging

"Were you born into the royal family or is king elected or earned?" He asked curiously. 

"That is a long story. I was born into the line, but a man killed my father and took the throne before I was of age, or even ready, to rule. I had to train and mature myself, and eventually fought him off. In Wakanda, the king, or Black Panther as we are called, can be challenged by anyone. The victor of the fight reigns king."

"What if the guy that wins is an asshole?" Clint paused to scoop up a rock and tossed it into the water as they walked. 

"I mean. What if no one can beat him but he's pretty much going to flush the whole country down the toilet?"

The King raised an eyebrow at him. "Why do you think I was gifted with my ability?" He asked quietly. He took a few steps out into the water while Clint was processing that, wiggling his toes until they sank into the sand. Then he turned back around, regarding Clint. 

"Our laws and traditions dictate that a Black Panther can only be dethroned in a fair fight. If there was any other way, it would be abused. The council of elders hold a powerful away in our government, but this man threatened them and their families with annihilation. There was no other way. Our God rarely intervenes, but she saw the struggle of my people. She saw the death and destruction that lay in our path and so she answered my prayers."

Clint hummed and smiled. "I think she picked the right guy for the job... so you kinda spent most of your time growing up training and schooling huh?"

T'Challa came back out of the water, shifting from one foot to the other. He wasn't used to all this flattery. At least, not in the genuine sense. Dignitaries kissed his feet every day and it was irritating. But this was different. "Yes. Though I was a bit of a brat when I was younger, if you would believe that."

"No! You? No. I won't believe it." Clint snorted with a smirk. The archer nudge him then moved up the beach a bit before easing down to sit in the sand. 

"I guess I was training too... not on purpose.. when I was little Mama got me a little bow and arrow toy. But yanno... we were hungry alot so I sharpened it and would stick birds. Rabbits. Fish. Anything."

"Tell me more. You mentioned a circus?" T'Challa prodded gently. He was curious now. T'Challa laid his jacket out and sat on it, gazing out over the ocean. 

"Alright well my pops was a mean drunk if you get what I mean, used to take it out on us. I think that's how I went deaf. I think he musta done something but it was before I was making memories. When I was six he had a forty to many and they went for a drive. Never came back. Spent a few years in the Iowa Foster Care system. Grew up a little and dropped out of school and ran away to the circus."

Clint smiled a little at him for putting his jacket down that way. "I was a rustabout for a while, helped take care of animals. There was a trickshot and a knife thrower on the show. They saw me shoot some rats once and started training me. The Amazing Hawkeye. Worlds Greatest Marksman. The costume was horrific."

T'Challa gazed at him sympathetically as he spoke of his father. It was brave of him to speak so glibly, especially to a stranger. "That you made it at all is impressive. None of that sounds like a feat for an ordinary person," he said softly. He was impressed to say the least.

He may be speaking candidly but he was keeping alot to himself still. His brother Barney. The hard times in Foster Care. How Buck and Jacques had treated and handled him in the circus. The Circus of Crime. Clint shook his head, "There's people that go through alot worse than me and do alot better than I have. I'm nothing special. I just survived that's all."

The archer stretched out his legs in front of him and wiggled his toes. He pointed to the Ferris wheel over Coney Island. 

"That's where my circus was, actually. On Coney Island. I stayed with 'em until I was eighteen. After that the US Army made a pretty tempting offer and I joined the Rangers. Sniper. Did a couple tours, Iraq and Afghanistan. Don't tell him but I was on the team that pulled Tony out of the desert after that Ten Rings debacle."

Now that T'Challa had heard of. Who hadn't? The disappearance of tony Stark was a big deal. 

"How did you join the Avengers?" He pressed. It seemed like a bit of a stretch, going from the army to an elite group of heroes. Then again, the archer was apparently very skilled.

"I wasn't supposed to be on the team. When my enlistment ran out I was in LA so I figured might as well try and be a cop or a firefighter or something since thats the kind of stuff I knew. Got a GED and got on with the LAPD. I was working with SWAT when SHIELD hired me. Gotta be honest the only reason I really went for it was because they said I could use my bow again. But the whole Avenger's thing was an accident."

Clint leaned back on his hands in the sand. "I recruited Natasha and I was there in Nevada while Thor scrapped with the Destroyer. But I wasn't going to be a part of the team. I was babysitting the Tesseract when Loki attacked. He put some spell on me, ran me around like a wind up soldier. Once I was 'recalibrated' I kinda just fell into it."

The King watched him as he talked, feeling a twinge of sympathy. Clint's life had been rough, to put it mildly. To a degree, T'Challa understood, but his struggles were nothing compared with Clint's. 

"You may doubt what I say, but at least listen," he began. "A lesser man would not have survived. You made your own way in this world, something I cannot say I have done. I would be loathe to face you on the field of combat, Mr. Barton. You have a warrior's spirit."

Clint grinned though he blushed just a little. "Not to bad for a boring old human I suppose. And its Clint. Please. I'm old enough without being called 'mister'."

The sun was sinking low over the horizon. As the light dimmed the Boardwalk and Coney Island slowly glowed to life. Carnival music and multi-colored light glowing off the water surface.

"Very well, Clint." T'Challa smirked, his eyes still on the horizon where the sun was disappearing. "Thank you, for this. It's been rather lonely since I came here and knowing my way around helps."

"The first friend is the hardest one to make." Clint assured. "It'll be easy from here on out... yanno at least until you go home."

The King raised an eyebrow, turning to face Clint. "We are friends, then?" This was his first friend that wasn't a diplomat or someone technically beneath him. It was nice having an equal to call a friend.

"I'd like to say we are. Just starting out but yup. If you wanna be I mean."

T'Challa smiled back, though he felt guilty- for the first time in a long time. What he was planning tonight would be a betrayal of his new friend, and he hoped that the archer could forgive him eventually. "We are."

Clint grinned then carefully pushed himself up. "Then let me offer you a ride back to your... hotel? Whatever it is. If you don't mind getting back on the bike again."

The archer pushed himself to his feet and stretched, arching his back with a crackle.

T'Challa stood and retrieved his jacket, shaking it free of sand. He could just get it dry cleaned later. "Yes, please. I'll give you the address as we go."

"Works for me." Clint waited for him as they hiked back up to the Boardwalk walk. He pointed to a bench where they could put their shoes back on before heading over to the motorcycle. 

Clint passed him the helmet before swinging astride the bike and kicking on the engine. "Alright. Where to?"

T'Challa slid comfortably on to the back of the bike, familiar with it by now since he'd been riding it all day. As he gave Clint his address, he felt another wave of guilt coming and stifled it. There was nothing to be guilty about. This was the cost of protecting the world, Clint would just have to understand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kittyhawk is a little-known/nonexistent marvel ship that theplanetmary and I discovered. T'Challa and Clint aren't exactly a conventional couple, but with the right build up, they make quite a pair. This fic will go through their first meeting (which isn't canon!) and whatever happens beyond. There will eventually be a relationship and possibly explicit content, so stay tuned!

5.

It wasn't until late into the evening- or very early the next morning, rather- that T'Challa set out again. It was still dark in the city, which made it easy for him to slip between shadows as he made his way towards the museum. He knew he didn't have a choice; vibranium was far too dangerous to be kept anywhere but wakanda. The U.S. didn't deserve to keep something they didn't understand the gravity of. If one of their many super villains got their hands on the meteorite, it would mean big trouble. That was why T'Challa was going to steal it first. 

Dressed in all black, nothing but his eyes were visible as he stole through the night. The king had purposefully avoided wearing his costume, for fear of being recognized and drawing unwanted anger towards his country. Not that he anticipated being caught. 

The security proved slightly difficult, but once he was in, disabling the system for a brief period was a breeze. Then all it took was a little recalibration and the cameras would be looping the same footage of an empty hallway for an hour. Confident in his own work, T'Challa assumed he would be able to get the giant space rock out of its exhibit and then exit the building before the next guard could make his rounds through the hall. Everything was going to plan until he reached the rock itself.

Barton Artemischampion Clint sighs sadly and shook his head from where he sat next to the display. Slowly the archer got to his feet and dusted himself off. 

"I really really hoped that I was going to be wrong on this and I could tell you about it later. You'd get all offended and huffy but I'd be able to convince you I was being ridiculous and we could laugh about the night I spent in the stupid museum. See? See how long I've been sitting here? I made that all up in my head while I was sitting here."

...Okay, he hadn't expected Clint to anticipate him. Honestly he was impressed. Usually people couldn't figure out what he would do next. T'Challa's eyes narrowed a fraction before he lunged for the man, going straight for a kick to the head. He was hoping to take him down quickly and explain himself later. Talking about it and arguing weren't part of the plan.

Clint. honestly hadn't expected an outright attack like that. Maybe an explanation or something. He dodges the best he can thought he's not able to completely evade the strike. The boot clips his jaw and his teeth clack. His eyes water and he stumbles. But its not a long pause. His bow is up over his head and he swings it full force towards T'Challa's side. Using it more like a baseball bat than a bow. 

If the bow connects it may crack a few ribs. If it connects the bow it'll sing a tune that T'Challa may be all to familiar with. The same kind of tune that Captain America's shield makes.

T'Challa didn't pause to celebrate his hit. This was a fight now, there was no time for him to be wasting on other thoughts. Like how he'd just kicked his one and only friend in the face. 

He shoved that thought aside, silently scolding himself. This was about more than just a mere friendship, this was about the good of the public. 

T'Challa slid gracefully aside as the bow came at him, the weapon just barely glancing off his arm. But that was all he needed to recognize the sound. He froze up, his eyes widened in surprise as they traveled from the weapon to its wielder. How did Clint have vibranium?

Clint doesn't hesitate. More than anything because he's mad. Furious honestly. The bow swings around like a sword to smash into the King's belly with all the force he had. A foot hooks under T'Challa's heel to try and yank a foot out from under the King. 

"I gave you my phone number like an idiot. Actually hoped you'd call me. I'd say it's a kick in the teeth but you were just aiming for that just now."

T'Challa wasn't prepared and caught the full power of the blow right in his stomach. With the combined tugging of his foot, he went down like a sack of bricks, the air knocked out of him. Gasping for breath, he rolled away, managing to get up though he favored his stomach. 

"So?" He rasped back, utterly bewildered by the speech Clint was going into. He was unfamiliar with the connotation that went with giving someone your number. He'd just assumed Clint wanted him to have it for general purposes. Not for romantic ones. Now on the defensive, he kept his distance, waiting for a strike that he could counter to his advantage.

"Jesus christ you _are_ naive. You wanna see what you're doing this all for." 

Clint storms over to a display and points at a pock marked rock pushed to the back of a case full of samples. There's nothing extraordinary about it. Its in broken pueces and all together no bigger than a toaster. Its dusty and barley has a display card, no more than a date and location and stating it was donated by a 'Maria Stark'.

"That. That's what you're here breaking into a friggin' museum for. That you're being a _thief_ over. Real honorable, your majesty..." Clint snorted.

T'Challa bared his teeth at the other man, not appreciating the tone Clint was taking with him. He still didn't know what to think about Clint giving him his number, but he knew exactly why he was here. 

"Honor has nothing to do with this. I'm doing what I must to protect not just the metal, but the people of the city. You should know how dangerous vibranium is, seeing as you just hit me with it." Keeping a wary eye on Clint, the king stalked past him and went to observe the meteorite. A little bit of rubbing with his thumb to clear the dust, and he could make out the faint, glittering signs of what lay inside the rock. 

"There is vibranium in this rock. I would bet my life on it," he said quietly.

"Yeah maybe but most of its gone. That's why its _here_. Not in a vault somewhere. They took all they could out of it to make the shield and what little there was left over they locked it up."

Clint growled right back. "And if you can't tell from the date this thing has been sitting here for sixty years without even being looked at ugly. And maybe you should have remembered that this is a _museum_. Museums lend things. They make trades. They _sell_ stuff. _I_ would bet _my_ life that in the time that it took you to decide 'hey I'm gonna steal that cause I know whats best' you could've made a couple phone calls and they would have turned it over to you in a gift wrapped box. At most they might have asked you to make a donation in return. Send em a couple Wakandan mask on loan or something so they can have a new display. Instead you're here making an ass of yourself. Again."

Once again, T'Challa's nerves were fraying. Clint's attitude was seriously making him mad and he didn't like the fact that Clint could be right. That he could be making a mistake. 

"You have no way of knowing that," he hissed angrily, unable to get a grip on his emotions now that they were free flowing. He couldn't be calm and collected while this man was insulting him left and right. 

"It is ours by right! You have no idea the strength of even the smallest traces of vibranium. The damage can be catastrophic, which is why the only place it is safe is in /my/ care." He glared daggers at Clint. "Let me catch you speaking foul of me again, and I will give you a reason to regret it." He was still in pain from the initial blow, but too angry to care about it. He hadn't felt this much irrationality in a long time.

"Don't I? I see the stuff in action on a regular basis. I know the power of this stuff and honestly I agree that it belongs in the right hands. But you guys exclusively... So what? You're gonna go take Steve's shield from him? Take my bow from me? You know thats not going to fly." Clint asked stiffly. 

Then he sighed and and rubbed his face tiredly and looked at him for a while. Studying him. 

"Don't do this. Please. Just back off and think about this. Think about /trying/ a different way. Ask. People will surprise you." Clint looked between T'Challa and the display then backed away. "... don't sink to this."

T'Challa opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat. He had no intention to take Steve's shield or Clint's bow. They were already in a solidified form and couldn't be used to create anything more dangerous. But the more Clint talked, the more childish he felt, and the shame that came with it wasn't improving his anger any. He hated to be belittled, especially since it usually has to do with his age. Clint didn't even know how young he was, and yet he still treated him like a child! It was incredibly frustrating. His subjects never talked to him this way, but to every opponent, he was nothing but a child playing dress up. Here he was being chastised again for trying to do what he thought was right. 

Straightening up in a refusal to show any more weakness, he gave Clint a final glare before turning and stalking off down the hall. It hurt like hell but he was too proud to let it show how much it actually pained him. Physically and mentally. No one had landed a hit like that on him before.

Clint didn't follow though he watched the other's back as he left. 

The archer's stomach roiled as he collected his things and closed the display case. He headed out of the hall towards the front desk. The security guard seemed surprised but Clint reassured him and walked out onto the street. 

He was glad that T'Challa had backed away, left the meteor where it was. But it left him with his mind a mess. Confused and unsure.

He lingered a few minutes outside the museum before making his way across the city to T'Challa's hotel. He made his way up to a neighboring rooftop and roosted to sit sentinel and think.

T'Challa felt weak. Not in the physical sense...though he didn't feel great that way either...but emotionally. He let someone beat him in a fight for the first time, and he let that same person boss him around. He left without the vibranium, just because some man had told him to. It made him feel sick- he was a king! He shouldn't be lowering himself to the level of commoners. Yet every time he thought of turning around, he felt guilty. He really had upset Clint, and if the other man was right, why bother breaking in if he could just ask nicely?

Hunched over his stomach, the confused king made his way through the city. He must've had a look in his eye, because no one would get in his path. That was just fine with him. 

Instead of going to his hotel though, he went in the complete opposite direction. He knew he wasn't being followed, but he had a strong suspicion that Clint might try to come after him. He didn't want to see the archer again, at least not right now, so he went to a hotel on the complete other side of town and booked a room under the alias Luke Charles.

The archer's heart sank further and further in his chest the longer that T'Challa didn't come back to his hotel. He wouldn't go back the museum. He hoped that the King wouldn't go back. 

Clint had a fault. He became easily invested. He sunk his heart onto people. He had with Natasha. With the Maximoff twinss. With Kate Bishop.

He did it over and over and would do it for the rest of his life. He was doing it with T'Challa. Becoming invested and opening himself up to be hurt. Hell just seeing T'Challa there in the museum it made him want to throw up. 

Then made him lash out. Verbally... and physically. 

He rubbed his own stomach. "I shouldn't have hit him so hard..."

T'Challa tore his shirt off as soon as he got into the hotel room, flicking on the bathroom lights to see the damage. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of the dark bruises already forming. He still felt like someone was repeatedly punching him in the stomach, but he didn't want to go to the hospital for fear of Clint finding him there. He was too proud for his own good. 

Tchalla had nothing with him- no clothes, no food, no medicine. Nothing. He felt stupid for letting himself get put into this situation, and bitterly he thought to himself that he should've just taken Clint down. Knocked him out and taken the meteorite. Or better yet, not gone to steal it in the first place! 

With nothing better to do, the king laid down for a long night of suffering, unable to get to sleep with both his body and mind so active. Any damage to his stomach would heal soon enough, but it would take time. Sleep was out of the question, leaving him lying miserably awake.

Clint doubted that his jaw felt nearly as bad as T'Challa's stomach and ribs did. He sort of wished that he hadn't dodged and just ended up passed out on the museum floor with a broken nose. Then at least things would have been more black and white. He knew T'Challa wasn't a bad guy. That this mattered so much to him to actually try to break in and steal the meteor... 

Clint wished he hadn't said anything at all. Wished they had gone to the art museum instead. 

He sighed. Moping and wishing wasn't going to help any. He wanted to do something, fix it, he didn't want their friendship to rot away before it had a chance to get started. 

But what could he do? It was obvious that T'Challa didn't want to be found. He didn't come back to his hotel, wither he figured Clint would try and follow him or not he hadn't come back. Clint waited on his perch all night, watching and waiting and hoping T'Challa would show up safe and sound. He wouldn't budge until he was sure the King was back and alright. 

And if he didn't show up by morning Clint would go and find him.


End file.
